


The one about the corpse and the river

by Shameblack



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: And suffering, Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, My sons doing justice, Translation, but it has nothing of it, i wanted this to be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 01:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shameblack/pseuds/Shameblack
Summary: Under an oak they find a dead girl.





	The one about the corpse and the river

**Author's Note:**

> Before writting it I wanted this to be cute and fluff. It's not. It's the complete opposite of that. 
> 
> Thanks to my beautiful beta, maja te adoro, ya lo sabes.

The owls hoot restless, flipping their wings and breaking through the night with their yellow eyes, as a warning to those who are close enough to the tragedy. Under an oak with a dozen owls on its branches they find a dead girl, her pale body being a disturbing contrast with the dark roots on which she lays.  Her hair is red like the summer sunset and her dark green eyes are wide open, looking at the tree top, maybe pleading to the winged beasts for a little bit of mercy. Her curly hair falls upon her shoulders, framing her pretty face along with the blood in her neck. She has a deep cut in her throat, crossing it side to side and her mouth rests open in what they guess was her last scream among the living. Her clothes are dirty with mud and blood, the skirt of her dress is torn apart by desperate hands, her legs spread completely and full of violent bruises. The owls watch her, just like Gren and Runaan do.

A farmer girl around Rayla’s age, with her hands hardened by the work and worn out boots on her feet. A girl that lived her last minutes in this world terrified and suffering.

“She has being here for a couple of hours” says Gren after he gets on his knees beside the girl, softly placing two fingers over the skin around the wound.

“How far can the fucker who did this be?” asks Runaan, looking at the girl’s face, her fear embedded in each wrinkle around her lips, and that shuddering soundless scream that the elf can feel in his bones.

“Far, ” looks at the path in the woods, the leaves in the trees dancing with the breeze “but not far enough.”

And Gren’s right. It’s not full moon, but it is past-midnight and that, with the fury that carries in his chest, it’s enough for Runaan to find the aggressors. Gren cuts the arm of the man who’s holding a flask with wine while narrates with excruciating details everything that he did to the child.

The limb falls to the ground splashing blood around and before the other bastards can draw the butcher knives that hang from their hips, Runaan stabs one and breaks the other’s nose with a kick.

Gren isn’t an executioner and Runaan’s sure that all the deaths in the human’s past have been quick and clean. These ones are not.

By sunrise they are returning. Gren with the girl’s body in his arms, her tiny figure wrapped in the soldier’s cape; Runaan carrying in his only hand the bag with the fuckers’ heads. It stinks of alcohol, blood and shit, and the bottom of the sack is soaking wet.

Makeyla was her name and she was fourteen years old. They couldn’t close her eyes so is the sky what she’s looking at when her mother hugs her and her father and brothers cry in their knees around her body. She has come home, but it’s not relief what her return has brought.

They’ve been walking for more than an hour, with the sun warming their necks, when Gren stops on his track and starts crying in the middle of the woods. It sounds as piercing as the hoot of the owls and just as honest as the weeping of the mournful parents. Runaan hugs him the best he can and lets Gren’s tears soak his clothes. He kisses his forehead and brushes his hair, because nobody ever taught him to comfort and this is the best he can do.

It’s not enough, but it’s something, so Runaan hugs Gren and waits patiently while the other cries out, and when he’s done sobbing, he kisses him softly. It’s not enough, but Runaan doubts that one day something will be.

 

* * *

 

They’re walking near a river, Gren is crying and Runaan’s pretending not to know it.

“If reincarnation exists I hope she comes back as an elf,” Gren murmurs with his voice trembling “that way, she will be able to live everything she couldn’t as a human, and maybe someday forget what those men did to her.”

Runaan’s not going to tell him that such abominations leave scars in the soul that not always heal; so he nods and takes his hand, keeping him away from the riverside.

“I would have died for her,” his voice is a whisper a bit louder than the water. Runaan squeezes his hand, just a little.

“I know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a tiny crisis because there is so little about them in the fandom. I want more, c'mon. 
> 
> Also, I didn't know how to put it in the fic, but my headcon is that elves don't have this dark desires, like lust and violence, not like humans do, and that's why Gren wanted the girl to reincarnate as an elf, so the same tragedy wouldn't happen to her again.


End file.
